


Dark Angel

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: dark topics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 00:54:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15852927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When a man serving a foul master makes a dangerous choice for the benefit of the prisoners given into his custody, he finds himself serving another master, one with his own dark side.  Is there no path without the darkness?





	Dark Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Corollary to an earlier story, but this one is told from Kommandant Wilhelm Klink's POV.

He hadn't slept the night before, tossing and turning throughout, and the day had been long and fraught with a multitude of minor annoyances. He'd been alone, for the most part, and impatiently chased away the few who came to interrupt him. Now his day was at an end. Well, as much as it could be for someone who lived where he worked. As Kommandant of Stalag 13, the self-touted 'toughest prisoner of war camp in all of Germany!', he was never really off-duty, never free of the responsibilities and the worries.

Still, unless a problem arose, his time was now his own, and at least he was able to be in his own quarters rather than in his office. If nothing else, the seating was much more comfortable. He reached for the decanter of schnapps, noting it was only half full. Hopefully that would be enough to ease him toward sleep; if not, he had another full bottle in the cabinet and another in his closet. There had been a time when a bottle would last for a very long time; now . . . Well, there had been a time when his sleep was not so interrupted by bad dreams, too.

He turned to the book on his desk, a book of sayings, aphorisms, quotes. Sometimes it soothed him with its accumulated insights into human nature; sometimes, he found it very depressing. Surprisingly, at least it would have been surprising to anyone who saw him with it, considering the official opinion of all things not-German, it was not a book of just German sayings, but one compiling the sayings of many people, many countries. Including English, including several from America. To him, in this mood, that seemed very appropriate. 

Was it just happenstance that the book opened automatically to the D's, to a particular section of that letter? Or was there a message there? Probably it was just that he had read that section so many times the spine was cued to open to that spot. 

"Better the devil you know, than the devil you don't"  
"When you dine with the devil, bring a long spoon"  
"You can hide from the devil, but he can always find you"  
"The devil is in the details"  
"Making a deal with the devil"

Obviously, he was but one of many who'd pondered the nature of the devil throughout history. His eyes fell on the next one - "A brave man is a man who can look the devil in the face and dares to tell him he is a devil." 

Klink wept silent tears, knowing he wasn't that brave. He didn't bother to wipe them away; he knew they were just the start of many.

When he'd made the decision to turn a blind eye to what was happening in his camp, to Hogan's activities and escapades, he'd thought he was doing the right thing. His loyalty was to his country, not to the political machine in Berlin. It was even a little exciting, being a part of such a subversive rebellion against that monster who was steadily destroying the Germany that once was. And playing the role of resident idiot-in-charge, that had been almost amusing; he'd found himself padding his part, almost automatically. He thought he fooled almost everyone, though sometimes he'd see Schultz looking at him with a greater amount of bewilderment than usual; well, Schultz had known him for quite some time, from before. They weren't friends, of course, never would be, but they had some understanding of each other. 

The hardest part was switching back to his more accustomed role as fawning sycophant with General Burkhaulter, and trembling yet blustering fool with Major Hockstetter. Well, he'd always been a talented actor in school; everyone had said so. He'd even briefly considered that as a career; very briefly, as his traditional military family had been appalled and quickly let him know that was not an option. Maybe if he'd rebelled, become an actor, he wouldn't have become what he was now. He'd never anticipated this, never anticipated becoming a servant to a dark angel. 

"Wilhelm Klink, COLONEL Wilhelm Klink, KOMMANDANT Wilhelm Klink," he muttered to himself, pouring himself another glass of schnapps. He was, yet again, trying to figure out how it had gone so wrong. One mistake after another after another; that was pretty much the story of his life. Still, this last mistake, if he could call it that, had taken him totally by surprise. This last mistake would be the one that destroyed him in the end.

Purposefully, resolutely, he flipped pages at random, well away from those ever-so-damning D's. Somehow, to his dismay, it didn't seem to help much.

E - "The end justifies the means"  
F - "There can be no failure to a man who has not yet lost his courage, his character, his self-respect or his self-confidence." 

Klink groaned and quickly turned forward to the middle of the book.

N - "No good deed goes unpunished"  
O - "Out of the frying pan, into the fire."  
P - "Where a path might lead is something one rarely knows when one steps foot on it. The pathways of life are rarely marked with their true destination."

In sheer frustration, Klink threw the book across the room, watching as it hit the wall and fell, open and face down. Wearily he rose and went to retrieve it. It had opened to the D's again. He hardly dared to look at the page in front of him, but kept it open where it was; soon maybe he would regain the courage to look. 

Hogan, from the very beginning, had captivated Klink, warm brown eyes and a sly smile like a mischievous cherub. The intelligent conversation, the chess games, the game of wits, they all had led to a relationship Klink hadn't expected to have with an enemy soldier, a feeling of comradeship, verging on friendship. If only he'd realized then that he was being seduced, manipulated, controlled. By the time he realized, he had gone too far in furthering Hogan's outside activities, so that it would have taken only a hint, a dropped word, for Klink to end up at the Russian Front. Too far away from Hogan, to whom he had become addicted, and far too close to death. In the end, he simply accepted that it was Hogan who was in command, not Wilhelm Klink.

He drew a deep breath and looked down at the pages in front of him. 

"Remember, the devil was once an angel"  
"The devil's voice is sweet to hear"  
"Hell is the highest reward the devil can offer you for becoming his servant"  
"Donning wings and a halo doesn't turn a devil into an angel; it's just a costume-change"

He closed the book gently and laid it on his desk. He reached for the bottle of schnapps once again, sipping from his glass and leaned his head back against the over-stuffed chair. He tried to think of the good things he'd been able to accomplish, or at least, the bad things he'd prevented from happening here. The prisoners were treated as well as he could manage without betraying himself to either them or his overseers. Punishments consisted mostly of loss of use of the recreation hall, or early lights-out. The most serious offenses were dealt with by stints in the cooler, and while he knew it wasn't a pleasant place by any means, he shuddered as he thought of what some of his fellow Kommandants used as punishments. There were no floggings here, no hangings for rebellion. He had kept a stricter eye on the guards, after that debacle with those three foisted on him by General Burkhaulter. Weber, Bauer and Schmitz - Weber was dead, at Klink's own hand, Bauer and Schmitz at the Russian Front. It had taken some serious manoeuvering to escape Burkhaulter's wrath, but thankfully, Burkhaulter had been truly appalled at Klink's description of that scene, enough to help make the trouble go away. Klink let the picture of that night appear in front of him, remembering those pain-filled blue-green eyes of the Englishman, the raging fury and humiliation he'd seen there, and shuddered once again.

His glass was empty. He should just get up and go to bed, he knew that. But the damage was already done; the memory of those eyes had started it all flooding back - not THAT scene, but the more recent ones. He poured another glass, sloshing a few drops on his desk, drops he didn't bother to wipe away, anymore than he had wiped away those earlier tears. After all, they would probably just be replaced with new ones soon. He drifted back to the thoughts, the memories he wished he could scour out of his memory. The first one, in the barracks, he'd never forget, because he hadn't put a stop to it all as soon as he'd walked in and seen what was happening, even though it was well within his power. No, he hadn't stopped it, had even let, even helped Hogan drag poor Schultz into the outrage; then when Hogan had urged HIM, he'd been too weak to refuse. Hogan had just laughed, told him Newkirk didn't seem to have any objections. Well, any fool could see the Englishman had been drugged into unconsciousness. Looking back, Klink wondered anew about the other three men; none of them had looked familiar, and though he'd looked at all the prisoners much more closely in the following days, he couldn't spot them. It was like they had just vanished. Well, with Hogan being involved, that was quite possible, he had to admit. 

This last time, dear god, the last time . . . Hogan had visited him several times that day, spoke in soft silken tones, built fantasy upon fantasy, seducing him into believing the Englishman would be a willing participant, was as eager for the fantasy as he was. Klink knew, deep in his heart, that wasn't likely to be true, but the words, the visions were so powerful he spent the last hour after Hogan's final visit in a state of urgent arousal. When the two men had appeared at Klink's door, the uneasiness in Newkirk's eyes made it clear he wasn't there willingly, hadn't really any idea of why he was there; the sheer horror and rage that rapidly replaced the uneasiness removed any doubt. Still, it took only a smile and a calming hand to the shoulder, along with a kind voice saying, "you don't have to stay, Newkirk. You can go back to the barracks. Just send over Carter or Olsen, your choice." Klink was glad he'd locked his revolver away; he thought just for a second that both he and Hogan might have ended up dead, no matter the consequences. He'd watched as the Englishman regained control, tamped all expression from his face and eyes. The voice that rasped out, "I'll stay," might have come from a man being strangled to death. 

Klink still remembered the smug expression on Hogan's face the next day when he'd come to Klink's office. Klink had whispered, almost afraid to say the words out loud. "You lied, Hogan. He wasn't there willingly."

Hogan had reached out to pour himself a drink, and laughed. "Of course he was, Kommandant. You heard. I gave him a choice; he decided to stay."

"You knew he would?" Klink questioned, trying to figure it all out.

If anything, the smug confidence increased, "well, he IS one of the men under my command, Klink. Any good officer knows his men, what motivates them, what makes them tick. A good officer knows his men better than they know themselves, and I know my men very, very well. Newkirk, he's no mystery, except perhaps to himself. Yes, I knew he'd stay. And I know, with the same 'motivation', he'll come back whenever I tell him to. They're his weak link, you see, the others - Carter, LeBeau, Kinch, Olsen. You know a man's weak link, you can control him completely. Yes, I know exactly how to pull his strings." 

Klink reached out now to turn the lamp lower, forcing that scene from his mind, but those rage-filled blue-green eyes still looked accusingly at him from the dimness of the room. He pushed back his chair and staggered to the bathroom, vomiting violently, tears flowing without pause. So many of the words, the sayings he'd read were painfully true.

One last saying from that book kept running through his mind. "Hell is the highest reward the devil can offer you for becoming his servant." Well, he could testify to that. And he saw no escape from the hell he'd walked into, following the seductive lead of a dark angel.


End file.
